First five are a type of music, one blamed for satanic influence. First eight are a type of material, containing many elements below it. With the last two, I’m complete, a band of fame, like a moth to the flame.

If I wreathe your door, you better watch out! I can lap, I can lick, with my tongue long or stout. My hunger's voracious the more food the more I prosper With a 'b' before my last letter, I'm how one makes bananas foster.

My first three are the last of a famous rapper’s name, drop the Dr. My middle is you, in the first person. My last three are the first of a four-letter computer company. Combined, I’m a toy played with seven days a year, with gelt and latkes.

I have a tongue but cannot speak, I put my tail between my teeth. When times are tough and the table is bare, pull me close for a tighter wear.

Acrid aromas arrive with a-holes amounting. I'm a word for bad smells, just a lesser used one. My alliteration skills ran out.